


Light Seen Through A Ruby Eye

by lady_libertine



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, bull also has a scar kink tbh, bull has a danger kink, mildly graphic descriptions of injuries, solas and his hangups, solas has a whole multitude of super violent stories he can't talk about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 13:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12582556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_libertine/pseuds/lady_libertine
Summary: A warrior always knows another warrior, even when one of them is no longer what he once was.Solas wears secrets like a cloak, and Iron Bull wishes to learn what they are.  He only partially succeeds, but the result is favorable to all involved parties.





	Light Seen Through A Ruby Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wingless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingless/gifts).



> a treat for wingless! more iron bull/solas, this time, with more blood, danger kink, and scars. 
> 
> all elvhen from project elvhen.

The Exalted Plains were stricken with drought, the river muddy and dark, the fields brown and dying. What wasn’t dying of drought was overrun with demons and Orlesian warriors, the buildings ruins on top of ruins. This place was not a pleasant one to be, and Iron Bull doubted that it had ever been such. There were ghosts in every corner of the place, or so it seemed.

The Inquisitor was here on a favor for Solas, and she’d brought Iron Bull and Varric with her. Bull wasn’t quite sure as to the nature of the favor--Adaar had explained that a ‘friend’ of Solas was being held captive by mages, but she didn’t explain who exactly this friend was. Solas was being tight-lipped on the matter. 

They walked through the high rocky formations, dodging soldiers and demons. Solas occasionally corrected their course. He seemed to know where to go on instinct, or perhaps his magic was telling him something. It was uncertain.

Eventually, they came across a body, a robed woman with several arrows sticking from her back.

“One of the mages,” Solas glanced down at the body, his tone frosty. 

“Looks like bandit work,” Varric said. 

They walked along, and found another body, this one burned to a crisp and bearing wicked slash marks. 

“This was no bandit victim,” Solas frowned as he looked down at it. “Burns and claw marks…” he trailed off, then looked towards the river. “Oh, no,” he breathed. “No, no _no_ …”

“Burns and clawmarks never bode well,” Varric murmured, sharing a glance with Bull. 

“Yeah, that’s not what I’d call a great sign,” Bull replied.

Solas was pale, jaw clenched, and he walked ahead of Adaar, so quickly it was almost at a run. Adaar hurried to catch up with him, Varric and Bull not far behind. 

Finally, they found what they’d come here to find.

At the shore of the river, bound in a circle of stones, was a massive demon. Pride, from the looks of it, but Bull wasn’t well-versed in distinct demon types. It was one of the big ones, with heavy armor and huge horns, as well as a whole cadre of eyes. 

Solas came to a halt several yards away. “My friend,” he exclaimed, horrified. He growled to himself in frustration, and clenched his fist.

Bull and Varric exchanged a look. 

“You said your friend was a spirit!” Adaar exclaimed.

“That is not its original form--it’s been corrupted!” Solas snapped, turning a glare on Adaar.

“Corrupted?” 

“Forced to act against its original purpose!” he turned away from her, putting a hand to his brow. “What did they do?” he gritted, more to himself than to the rest of them. “What did they do, _what did they do_?”

Then out of hiding came the mages who had made the summoning circle, and all hell broke loose.

Bull had never seen Solas that angry before. He advanced on the head mage, doing more shouting than anyone had ever heard from him. At last, he rounded on Adaar. 

“The summoning circle,” he said. “We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

The head mage moved to speak, but Solas turned a glare on him and he quieted. 

“Alright,” Adaar agreed. “We’ll see what we can do.” 

The demon attacked them as they went for the circle, but they managed to avoid the worst of it.

At last, the circle broke, and the demon vanished in a burst of black fire. Replacing it was a smaller shape, a woman, who looked like she might have been carved from shadows. She had a pair of eyes that glowed like green stars in her face.

Solas kneeled down before her. They spoke softly, too quietly to be heard. Finally, Solas reached out and cradled her face in his hands. The woman turned to ash, which blew away on the wind. 

“Solas…” Adaar said. 

Solas stayed there for a moment, head down. 

“Solas, I’m sorry,” Adaar said. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

“You already have,” he assured her, voice quiet. Then he got to his feet and turned, face transformed with anger. “Now all that remains is _them_.”

The three mages who remained of the group who had summoned the demon stepped forward. “Th-thank you,” the head of the group said. “We would not have risked a summoning, but--”

“You--tortured and killed my friend!” 

Solas was tall for an elf, but that still made him shorter than most humans, and definitely smaller than the head mage. It didn’t matter, however, as when he stalked towards them, the group as one moved back. 

“We didn’t know it was just a spirit--” the head mage stammered as he moved back. “The book said it could help us!”

Solas didn’t stop. Fire began to lick up his hands, his face a mask of rage. 

“Solas!” trust gentle-hearted Adaar to stop him. “Don’t!”

Solas froze. The fire in his hands went out. “ _Never_ again,” he growled, and the mage nodded frantically. 

The mages all turned to bolt--not walk, not jog, but run at full tilt in the other direction. The woman glanced over her shoulder to Solas, and almost tripped. Solas watched them go, his shoulders tense. 

“Are you...alright?” Adaar asked. 

“I...need some time alone,” Solas said eventually. Adaar blinked at him, but agreed. They would meet back at Skyhold. 

Solas left them on the shore of the river, and he made good on his promise to travel alone back to Skyhold, as they didn’t meet him on the road.

The display in the Plains had been a strange one. Bull had noted before how Solas went out of his way to be quiet, to not draw attention to himself. He didn’t have a temper like Sera or Cassandra, didn’t show off his magical skills like Vivienne or Dorian, and didn’t make much of a big deal out of his combat skills like Varric and Iron Bull himself. He lurked in his office and spent the majority of his time researching, or painting, or just sleeping. 

To see him so enraged, so terribly angry that Adaar had had to stop him killing or at least hurting the other mages was unusual. It also made Bull very, very interested. He made a note to ask Solas about it, at least in some manner, when he returned. 

It took a week before Solas came back, or at least before Bull saw him again. It was quite by accident that Bull was walking over to the keep when he almost ran into Solas coming the other way.

“Oh, hey,” Bull said. “You’re back.”

Solas nodded. 

“Sorry about your friend,” 

“Thank you,” Solas’ words were clipped, but his face was calm as ever. 

"Where were you?” Bull couldn’t help but ask. 

Solas shrugged. “I found somewhere quiet, and went to sleep.” 

“You couldn’t do that here?”

“No. I visited where my friend had been, and it did not reside anywhere near here.” something in Solas’ expression shifted, and Bull realized that asking more about the entire incident probably wouldn’t be constructive.

“Well, it’s good you’re back,” Bull said. “Don’t need the only mage who’s any good at healing to run off.” 

“I would not have left,” Solas assured him. “Not while there is still work to be done here.”

Bull shrugged. “Run off, eaten by something, we’d never know the difference.”

“I suppose not.”

All signs pointed to Solas being a calm, bookish, and overall _quiet_ man. He didn’t favor combat magic, instead preferring the peace of dreams and the company of spirits. He had strong opinions on certain things but otherwise stayed quiet. He wasn’t much of a fan of fighting, and preferred to solve problems without violence, for all that that was impossible during many of the trials faced by the Inquisition. 

But there had still been the Plains. The incident at the Plains continued to gnaw at Bull, and he had an intense desire to know _more_. There was something about it that felt important, that there was a deeper meaning beyond the dead spirit. 

And, Bull had to admit to himself, he kind of wanted to see that side of Solas again, if only to see what would happen. 

So, Bull began to ask Solas questions. 

“You have a lot of spirit friends?” Bull asked one afternoon. 

Solas blinked at him. “Yes,” he said. “In many places. Most spirits are quite willing to talk, if you wish only to talk.” 

“Right,” Bull nodded. “So...how do you exactly go about doing that?”

“The same as you would with any person who isn’t a spirit,” Solas explained. “One speaks with them and spends time with them.” 

“But spirits aren’t people, not really,” Bull protested. “And people can’t be turned into demons.”

“They _are_ people,” Solas protested. “Simply because they do not have a physical shape doesn’t mean they are not people.” 

“How so?”

“How are they different?”

“People can’t turn into demons. And we’re kind of corporeal.”

“If you discount someone’s personhood based on how corporeal they are, one must accept that animals are people as well.”

“...yeah, I can see how that might be a problem with the whole eating them thing.” Bull admitted. “Alright, so maybe that’s not a good measurement. But what about turning into demons?” 

“People, in your estimation, kill people often. How is that different from the damages a demon inflicts?” 

“Yeah, but no one tries to possess anyone else.” 

“Demons cannot possess you unless you allow it. Unlike the Qun, which wishes to possess all thought, whether one allows it or not.”

Bull rolled his eye. The Qun continued to be a sore spot for Solas, even though Bull was Tal-vashoth now. 

“It isn’t quite the same thing.”

“Is it not? The Qun would eliminate any thought it does not wish. There is as little freedom under the Qun as there is in being possessed. At least one has a choice in being possessed.”

They could talk about the Qun for hours and it would never get resolved. Bull still felt compelled to defend it, even though he wasn’t a part of it anymore, and he felt like Solas might know that. Solas tended to steer conversations away from himself, and towards other avenues any time that he could.

Solas was hiding something.

That was fine, it wasn’t like everybody was up front about their pasts. Sera hated talking about her past, likewise Dorian, and the less said about Blackwall, the better. But there was something about the way Solas hid himself that was entirely strange, and it made Bull’s Ben-hassrath instincts itch to no end. 

“So, where do you come from, anyway?” Bull asked him another time. 

“A village to the north,” Solas said.

“Yeah, but, where specifically?”

Solas shrugged. “It is not important,” he said. “I left some time ago.”

“Might be interesting, if everyone there is like you,” Bull prodded.

Solas shook his head, hiding a slight smile. “If you were to go there, people like me is not what you would find. It was merely not very interesting.” 

“Why’d you leave? On the run from Templars?”

“No. There is more to see of the Fade when one travels.” 

Bull raised his eyebrow. “So you left your home to...dream more?”

“In a sense.”

“And that’s all you wanted to do?”

“It was one of the things I wanted.” 

“But mostly that.”

“I do prefer the Fade to the physical world most of the time, yes.” 

“So you aspire to be in a coma, basically.” 

Solas glanced at him, eyes narrowed. “Why are you interested?”

Bull shrugged. “Just curious.”

“Why?” 

“I like knowing more about the people I fight with,” Bull informed him. “It helps me to get a handle on how people work.” 

Solas tilted his head to one side. “Interesting,” he said. “Personal history does have an impact on how people think. However, it is not always a useful metric.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve definitely run into problems with that,” Bull said. “Sometimes you can’t figure out how someone got from one point to another in their lives. But most of the time it works.” 

Solas seemed incapable of giving a straight answer when directly questioned about his past. It was all half-truths and vague statements, only increasing Bull’s curiosity. So far, Bull hadn’t noticed anything incriminating or dangerous, just odd. The way Solas talked about having fought in the past did nothing to quell the curiosity. 

The next curious display came entirely by accident. 

Iron Bull and Solas had been with Adaar and Sera in the Storm Coast, and the group had gotten separated in a fight with Templars. The two of them were backed up against a cliff face, surrounded by several Red Templars. They tried to stick together, but were soon forced apart when a lyrium horror came between them.

Bull, preoccupied with the horror, couldn’t back Solas up as several smaller Templars advanced on the elf. 

Solas scowled to himself, detesting the odds. Were he at his full strength, this number of attackers would hardly pose a threat, especially humans with no magic and only lyrium augmentation to give them an advantage. As it was, this was a particularly precarious position to be in. 

Solas’ barrier spell shattered as one Templar brought it down with a smite, and Solas was forced to resort to physical defense. He caught one of the Templars upside the head with his staff, sending the man stumbling backwards. He tripped the other one with the other end of the staff, but it was the last one that was the biggest problem.

The third Templar advanced on him, bigger than his fellows and not deterred by the blows of the staff. He spotted a gap in Solas’ defenses and brought his sword down squarely on one of Solas’ arms, and he cried aloud, dropping his staff. The Templar stepped on the staff and there was a horrible sound of cracking wood. 

Solas cursed to himself, cradling his injured arm against his chest. From the feeling it might be broken, but he couldn’t focus on that now. He blasted the Templar back with a surge of unfocused power, and though his knees were dangerously unsteady, he managed to stay on his feet. Bull was still dealing with the horror, so Solas snatched up one of the Templar’s fallen swords and went to help. He was going to regret this when the fight was over, but he would regret dying even more.

Another blast of raw magic sent the horror hurtling across the clearing and Solas walked forward, breathing heavily, his injured arm cradled against his chest. In his hand the sword crackled with lightning, and though it felt foreign in his hand, he knew what to do with it. He held the sword out and slammed the horror again with more raw energy, using the sword to focus the magic. 

The horror was down, its body smoking, and Solas panted for breath.

“Iron Bull,” he said. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Bull grunted, staring at Solas. 

“Good, now--” Solas was cut off as one last Templar, reeling from the blast of magic but still on his feet, came at them both. Before Bull could intervene, Solas whirled to meet the Templar’s blade with his own, forcing the Templar back. Solas growled to himself, and the blade sparked with magic. The Templar bore down with a smite so strong that even Bull could feel it, but Solas stayed on his feet, though the sparks went out. He countered the blows the Templar tried to deal, before finally, he got a weak spot in the Templar’s armor and cut his throat.

The Templar went down, and Solas stood, breathing heavily, the stolen sword in hand, and Bull was enamored. 

He looked _dangerous_ for a moment, more deadly than any beast Bull had ever fought, spattered with blood, gleaming with sparks, a cut on one cheek, and the sword in his hand. 

Then Solas dropped the sword with a wince, and clenched his hand, hissing in pain. His shoulders slumped, and the sparks went out. He clutched the injured arm to his chest, cradling it with his other hand.

“Fenhedis,” he muttered, face going pale, the blue of healing magic shimmering around his uninjured hand. 

Bull went to his side. “What happened?”

“Broken,” Solas hissed, then muttered a string of elvish curses that Bull, sadly, couldn’t translate. 

“Let me splint it,” Bull said. “You heal, I’ll straighten it out.”

“ _Mas serannas_ ,” Solas gasped, his face so white that there was a tinge of green about his lips. They found a space under a large tree to rest. Bull bound the broken arm up in a sling, then Solas began to heal it. 

“You didn’t tell me you knew how to use a sword,” Bull admonished, watching the way the light of magic made the shadows dance on Solas’ face.

“It is not important,” Solas said. His eyes were downwards, focused on his arm. “It is not a weapon I favor.”

It had been learned out of necessity, when it was too dangerous to go about with only one weapon at hand. 

“Yeah, but why do you know how to use it?”

Solas shrugged, focusing on healing his arm. “It was necessary. One cannot only use a staff to defend oneself.” 

Fen’harel had cleared battlefields in defense of his people and his armies, wielding magic in one hand and a blade in the other. Solas’ memories of this were drenched in blood and pain, the smell of ashes and magic so thick it was impossible to breathe. 

He thought, with a start, that if told the stories of Fen’harel’s battles, Bull would understand. 

“Someone had to teach you,” Bull cajoled. 

“Not necessarily.”

“Come on, now you sound like Sera.”

Solas wrinkled his nose. “Anything but that.” he sighed, leaning his head back against the trunk of the tree. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “It is not important.”

“Still pretty weird.” 

“Many people know how to use a variety of weapons.”

“Yeah, but for most people, that’s like, a longbow and a crossbow. Or different kinds of daggers. Not a _sword_ and _magic_.” here was more of that strange part of Solas that Bull had but glimpsed, something hidden and buried. 

Solas sighed, and leaned back against the tree. The tales of battle were just at the back of his throat, waiting to be dredged up like bile. “Thank you for splinting this,” he said instead, gesturing to his wounded arm.

“How long should it take to heal?” 

“Several days, provided I am given the opportunity. I cannot heal bones faster than that.” Not at the moment, anyway. 

Then Adaar and Sera found them, and the conversation stilled. 

Iron Bull couldn’t stop thinking of Solas standing over the dead Templar, sword in hand. Covered in blood and one arm broken, shimmering with magic and smelling like battle, he hadn’t seemed himself. 

His curiosity had burgeoned into full-blown fascination, and that fascination came with an intense desire. As they continued along the Coast, Bull couldn’t keep his eyes off the mage, and Solas knew it. 

Bull’s attention was...strange, to Solas. In truth, he was greatly discomfited by most kinds of attention, positive or no. On the other hand, Bull had given no indications he knew anything about Solas’ true history or his plans, so that was a relief. There was refuge to be taken in one’s reputation being literally mythical. 

He wasn’t quite sure what Bull wanted from him. Solas often had a difficult time puzzling out interpersonal motivations, so it took Bull cornering him in private one late evening for him to realize exactly what Bull’s intentions were. 

A long, rough kiss made things entirely clear to him. 

“Oh,” Solas blinked when Bull pulled away from him. “I did not realize you were interested in _that_ fashion.”

"Yeah, I figured,” Bull said. 

Solas frowned. “What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean you spend too much time in dreams, Fadewalker,” Bull said, and captured his lips in another kiss, which Solas eagerly returned. 

“What brought this on?” Solas murmured when they parted again. He put his arms (one newly-healed) around Bull’s neck, pulled him close. 

“The way you used that sword,” Bull bit at Solas’ neck, raising a vivid red mark. “The way you got all that blood on you.” Solas sucked in a breath, fingernails digging into Bull’s neck. “The way you fought through a broken arm.” 

Solas chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?” 

“Made me think of a dragon,” Bull growled, his voice deep with desire.

“Do we not kill dragons?” Solas asked. 

“Only the dangerous one.”

“And are mages not dangerous?”

“You got me there,” Bull admitted, and smothered Solas’ next words with a kiss. Solas experimentally sunk his teeth into Bull’s lip, and Bull rumbled in approval, making Solas cling closer. They separated, and Solas looked at him with an inquiring expression. 

“If this is how you deal with all dragons and mages, perhaps I have misjudged your feelings greatly,” he said.

Bull laughed. “Could be,” he said. 

“It is much more favorable than other options,” Solas smiled. 

It was when Bull got to Solas’ belt that the other man froze. He stopped, fire gone out of his gray eyes to be replaced with sudden anxiety.

“Wait,” he said. 

“You okay?” Bull asked. 

Solas stared at him for so long that Bull started to get very concerned, then shook his head. 

Bull let go, pulled back a bit. “What’s the matter?” 

“Forgive me,” Solas said. “I--this is not--I don’t think--”

“Hey, easy,” Bull said. 

“It has...been a long time,” Solas said. He felt the sudden, intense desire for armor, for shelter against vulnerability. 

“I figured,” Bull shrugged. “With the spirit friends and all.”

Solas made a face at him. “Why must everyone go on about that?” he hesitated. “Perhaps...another time,” he looked Bull up and down. “There is simply...much to consider.” 

Bull raised his eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Solas flushed. “Yes,” he folded his arms. 

“However long you want,” Bull shrugged. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

They were stuck on the Coast for a while yet, while Adaar ferreted out the Templars. Solas was still hesitant, but not willing to say that he wanted nothing from Bull. 

This gave them more opportunities to talk. Bull was specifically very, very interested in Solas’ knowledge of weaponry. 

“One can learn a variety of things in the Fade,” Solas explained at last, exasperated. “An a lone apostate needs to be able to use weapons of many kinds.”

Bull knew he was lying. Mere viewing of an event in the Fade by no means made one any good at a weapon. 

Solas seemed to retreat into himself when not given an impetus to do otherwise. He assumed a calm mask most of the time, and didn’t talk to many people or engage in any event that he didn’t need to. His healing knowledge had gone to some use in the Skyhold infirmary, and his magical knowledge of course helped the mages and Adaar, but otherwise, he kept to himself. 

It was so different from the rage he’d shown in the Plains, or the battle prowess he’d displayed against the Templars. It was as if he wore a mask most of the time, and there were only some things that made it slip.

Bull knew the signs of mask-wearing, being a Ben-hassrath. He also knew that there were ways to get underneath such masks, and he intended to do so. There was something extremely appealing about the thin elf carrying that much power within him. 

To Solas, Bull’s advances gave him mixed feelings.

On the one hand, closeness of any kind with a person who was not a spirit made him nervous. He could not jeopardize his plans for anything, even companionship or love.  
On the other hand, Iron Bull seemed curious, but not in such a way that was dangerous. He was suspicious, certainly, but not of the specific thing Solas needed to conceal. 

He was also very attractive, and intelligent, his rebellion against the Qun a definite benefit. He had a way of doing things that made Solas want to forget everything and focus on him alone. It had also been quite some time since Solas had so much as touched anyone, and that alone was quite a compelling argument in Bull’s favor.

Bull was also enthusiastic, willing, and had no hero worship or _god_ worship problems to get in the way. Bull neither wanted to throw himself at Solas’ feet nor labored under the impression that he was controllable. Solas had run into many who had wished to do either one of those things, but very few who considered themselves equal to him. 

Iron Bull was...compelling. The more Solas considered the situation, the more appealing it seemed.

The tales of blood and battle could not be spoken of. The things Fen’harel had done, the things that had been done to him, could not be mentioned, for all that Solas felt the press of memories far more closely than was comfortable. The old familiarity of war crept closer with each fight, and it could not be described why it was familiar, not without throwing everything into chaos. 

But although some things could not be spoken, they could be shown. There were other languages to use. Solas simply needed to remember how to use them.

At last, things came to a decisive head when they stormed the Red Templar keep. They’d been hiding like rats in an old dwarven ruin, now infested and defiled with red lyrium. Adaar and Iron Bull charged ahead, Sera and Solas bringing up the rear. 

Even so, Solas could feel Bull watching him when the battles lulled. 

If only Bull could have seen the Dread Wolf. Now, _there_ was something to rival dragons. 

Solas tended to be just as unassuming in battle as he was everywhere else, or at least, he tried to be, most of the time. Most of the people they fought never saw him coming, even when he chose to rain fire down across the battlefield (and what a shock that had been, the first time it happened). 

Then a lyrium horror knocked Adaar down and, oh, there it was. Bull ran to Adaar’s side, but before he could do anything, the horror was blasted aside by a twist in the Veil, a trick of the light turned to something as hard as steel, and Solas came up behind Bull. 

Sera helped Adaar to her feet, and they went on, but Bull had eyes only for Solas. He still gleamed with magic, wrapped up in the Fade like it was a favored coat, and his eyes blazed in such a way that it made Bull want to pin him up against the wall right then. 

Of course, they still had more Templars to kill. And then, blessing of blessings, a dragon. They hadn’t meant to do that, but they came across it while searching for more Templars, and, well, one thing lead to another. 

By the time it was all over, everyone was covered in gore and exhausted, but the moment Solas met Bull’s eyes, they both felt quite invigorated again.

The team went back to the nearest Inquisition camp, exhausted. Adaar and Sera both wandered off, presumably to sleep, but Solas and Bull had other things to do.

“We should go somewhere more private,” Solas murmured, eyes flickering to the nearby soldiers. 

Bull raised his eyebrow. “Is that so?” 

“Indeed it is.” 

Solas shouldered his pack, and began to walk. Bull walked beside him. They walked along the river, going upstream. The Inquisitor had taken care of this area already, so they knew it was both safe and very private, with no one living nearby. 

At the mouth of the river was a small pool, cold and clear and perfect for washing.

Solas made a small, revolted noise when he took off his coat, eyeing the blood spatters on it. 

“See, if you didn’t wear shirts, you wouldn’t have this kind of problem,” Bull said. Solas rolled his eyes. 

“No, I would simply have to wash the rest of me,” he said, looking pointedly at Bull’s blood-spattered chest. 

Bull smiled, and began to clean up. He’d found Solas to be extremely fastidious for someone who lived in the forest. He wasn’t to the level of Dorian, of course, but then, no one was. 

Solas pulled a blanket from his pack, and laid it out beside the pool.

“Planning on staying long?” Bull asked him.

Solas sent him a look, his expression measured, but his eyes brimming with heat. “With some cooperation on your part, yes.” 

Bull took the hint. He went to Solas’ side, laid him back against the blanket. 

“What do you want me to do?” Bull murmured in Solas’ ear.

Solas made an irritated growl. 

“Come on,” Bull urged him, grinning when he felt Solas’ arousal against his thigh. “Tell me.” 

“ _Aman na’mis_ ,” Solas growled. “I want you inside me.”

“Sure this time?”

Solas nodded. “Yes.” 

“What made you change your mind?”

“I didn’t,” Solas said. “I already wanted to. I simply needed to...think about it.”

Bull rolled his eye. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he said. “We’ll need some things first,” 

Solas made a grab for his pack, fumbled with a pocket, and pulled out a small vial. He gave a rare smile as he held it out to Bull.

“Why do you have this?” Bull asked.

“I believe in preparing for many situations.” 

Bull raised his eyebrow. Solas blushed, chin raised defiantly. 

Solas moved to pull his shirt off, and Bull helped, pulling it over his head. Curiously, Solas had a wide variety of scars that Bull hadn’t known about, most prominent being a burn scar that went from his chest, over one shoulder, and down his back, as if a hot liquid had been dumped there. 

“What’s this from?” Bull asked, touching the edges of the burn scar. 

Solas shook his head. “It is unimportant,” he said. 

It had been boiling oil, a deluge which had only just missed his face. He’d been guarding against a magical attack, hadn’t considered the physical one. He’d been in agony for days, magic keeping infection at bay and healing his flesh, but doing nothing for the pain. 

“I was lucky,” he said, unthinking, his eyes tracing the scar. “It could have been much worse.” 

“Accident? Or something else?” 

Solas hesitated, then gave Bull a tiny smile. “A battle,” he said. He touched the long scar across his belly, a souvenir left from a poisoned blade. “This one, too.”

“You’ll need to tell me the whole story sometime,” Bull rumbled, eyes darkening with lust. “Sounds like a good one.”

“Perhaps,” Solas said, and perhaps he would. Everything felt red, thunderous, anticipatory, like he could say anything and it would only be met with approval.

Bull tugged at Solas’ leggings, delicately stripping them off. Bull was partial to just yanking clothing off his partners, but in Solas’ case, slow seemed especially good. Solas shivered when he was bared to the air, and he wrapped an arm around Bull’s neck to pull him closer. 

Bull undid his own trousers, letting them fall to one side. Solas stared at him, eyes huge and blazing with heat. 

“I’m guessing we gotta go slow in your case, right?” Bull asked, raising his eyebrow. 

Solas flushed, a blush visible even in the moonlight. “It has been a long time,” he admitted. 

Bull nodded. “I figured.” 

Bull uncorked the vial of oil, and Solas breathed in heavily through his nose. Bull glanced at him.

“You’re sure?”

“Have I not said so?”

“I just want to check,” Bull said, then smiled lasciviously. “And I like hearing you say what you want me to do to you.”

Solas rolled his eyes. “Of course you do,” he said, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

Bull took both Solas’ wrists in his hand and pinned them above his head. 

Solas growled and almost bucked, deciding instead to wrap his legs around Bull’s waist. 

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” Bull murmured in Solas’ ear. 

Solas grinned, an expression of delight Bull hadn’t had the privilege to see before crossing his face, and said “I do not want you to _stop_.”

“That so?” Bull bore down with his weight, his other hand palming Solas’ prominent hip bone. 

“Of course.” Solas sucked in a breath of surprise when Bull moved his hand to his inner thigh. 

“Relax a bit,” Bull advised, and Solas did so. 

Bull lifted Solas’ leg up to prop it against his shoulder, giving him more access. Solas shuddered, feeling far more vulnerable than he was used to feeling, and gave another experimental buck.

“None of that,” Bull said, pressing a kiss to the spot where his neck met his shoulder. “Or we won’t get anywhere good.” 

Solas looked at him with half-lidded eyes. “And we cannot have that,” he murmured. 

Bull coated his hand in oil--he always felt that too much was never enough, and probably especially so in Solas’ case. 

He hitched Solas’ leg higher on his shoulder, and Solas made a noise of discontent. Bull glanced at him. 

“Something wrong?”

“Move _faster_ ,” Solas hissed, and that made Bull laugh. 

“I can do that.” 

He slid a finger in Solas’ entrance, and grinned at the tiny sound Solas made, an inarticulate noise that was bitten off almost as soon as it started. He crooked his finger and Solas made that noise again, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Come on,” Bull said. “What next?”

“I believe that is your area of expertise,” Solas gasped. 

“You sure about that? You like to be the expert in a lot of stuff.”

“ _Bull_ …”

“Come on, Solas,” Bull leaned in close. “What do you want me to do next?” 

Solas glared at him. “ _Fenhedis_ ,” he said. “I want more of _you_.”

Bull smiled. He added another finger, ignoring Solas’ cock, so hard it was leaking. Solas squirmed and Bull pinned his wrists tighter, making him growl again. Solas was tight, very much so, and Bull was slow, working his fingers in and out to loosen him up. 

The effort made Solas murmur something in Elvhen to himself, and when Bull glanced at his face he clamped his jaws shut.

“Alright?” Bull asked.

Solas nodded. “Don’t stop,” he gasped. “Keep going.” 

“Eager, aren’t you?”

“I should hope the answer to that question is obvious,” Solas managed a sarcastic drawl, but Bull crooked his fingers again and he threw his head back, gasping out another elvhen swear. 

Bull continued to loosen him up, relishing in the half-words and stifled noises that spilled from Solas’ lips.

“You don’t have to be so quiet,” Bull assured him. “No one’s around.”

Solas hummed behind clenched teeth. “I don’t...wish to draw undue attention,” he managed. 

“Attention from who?”

Solas blinked, his mind a haze. He didn’t have an answer for that. 

Bull released his wrists to cradle his cheek. “No Templars or bandits or spirits around,” he said gently. “Just you and me.” 

Solas let out a long sigh, and his head fell back against the ground. “Keep going,” he gritted, voice low, but his jaw was no longer clenched. 

“Can do,” 

Bull added a third finger, and Solas keened, low in his throat. His freed hands clenched and unclenched, scrabbling at the ground. 

“Doin’ okay?” Bull asked.

“Stop asking,” Solas hissed. “I am _fine_ \--”

Bull twisted his hand, and Solas’ words were cut off by a long string of Elvhen, much louder this time. Bull smirked.

“Just checking.”

“ _Fenhedis_ , Bull, you are _impossible_ \--”

Bull covered Solas’ mouth with his own, felt him shake underneath him. 

“I’ve heard that before,” Bull said, pulling away. 

“It is _true_ \--” 

Bull moved his fingers deeper, and Solas lost the thread of Common entirely, the words fleeing his mind. His mouth could only shape his native tongue, and he reached out for Bull’s shoulders, desperate to find something to hang on to. 

“I--” he stammered, as soon as Common came back to him again. “Bull, I need--”

“What is it?” 

“Take my wrists,” he gasped, a flush spreading over his cheeks. “Like before--” he wanted those large hands all over him, needed something to anchor him, before he was washed away by a flood. 

Bull chuckled, and pinned his wrists to the ground again. “And here I thought you didn’t like to be tied down,” he said. 

“Not all the time,” Solas managed. 

Bull judged Solas was loose enough by now, so he slowed to a stop. “Ready?” Bull asked, grinning. “Wanna ride the Bull?”

Solas managed to roll his eyes. “ _Fenhedis_ , if you do not--”

“If I don’t what?” 

Solas sucked a breath in through clenched teeth. “If you do not fuck me right now,” he said, voice deceptively calm, his heart pounding. “I will be very displeased.”

“That so? Can’t have that, can we?” 

Bull pulled his fingers out, making Solas gasp and shake. He took both of Solas’ hands in his, pinned them against the sides of his head.

Bull thrust in, and Solas made a tiny, broken noise. 

“Bull,” he gasped. “Bull, Bull, _Bull_ \--”

“Fuckin’ amazing,” Bull murmured, releasing Solas' hands and grasping his hips. He eased his way inside, then out again, slowly, slowly, so slowly that every movement was a hot drag on them both. 

Solas wrapped his arms around Bull’s neck.

“ _Harder_ ,” Solas growled, his fingernails digging into Bull’s shoulders. “ _Fenhedis_ , Bull, I will not _break_ \--”

Bull laughed. “Whatever you want,” he said. 

Solas started to say something else, but it ended in a noise that wasn’t really a word at all. He tilted his head back as Bull went faster, thrusting harder. 

“So good,” Bull gasped. “Doing so damn well--”

“Of course,” Solas exclaimed. “Of course, Bull--”

Solas’ words devolved into a mess of half-phrases and Bull’s name, over and over again. He wrapped his arms so tightly around Bull’s neck that it almost hurt, and Bull was certain he was going to leave hand-shaped bruises on Solas’ hips.

“--close, Bull,” Solas whispered. “I’m--” 

His back arched as he came, and come spattered over Solas’ middle, some of it getting on Bull’s chest, and he let out a cry, something long and Elvhen and shameless. 

The sight of that made Bull come as well, and he rumbled something in Qunlat, feeling boneless. 

The two of them lay together for a long moment, before Bull moved to pull out of Solas.

“Slowly,” Solas murmured. “ _That_ you can do slowly.”

Bull managed a hoarse chuckle. He obliged, sliding slowly out of Solas, who moaned slightly as he did so. Come leaked out of him, and Bull rumbled at the sight. 

“Alright, Solas?” Bull asked, gingerly touching Solas’ cheek.

“Mm,” Solas hummed, sounding entirely satisfied. “ _Quite_ alright, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it.” 

They both lay together under the night sky, watching the stars. Bull pulled Solas closer to him, and Solas pressed his forehead against Bull’s shoulder.

“We should do this another time,” Solas murmured. 

“That good, huh?” 

“Better,” Solas closed his eyes. “We should experiment more.” 

“What were you thinking?” 

Solas flushed again, and hid his face against Bull's shoulder. “I am unsure,” he said. “I believe you can think of something.” he looked up. “Provided you are amenable, of course.”

Bull laughed. “For you? I can come up with a lot.” 

Solas smiled, and his eyes shone with that fire that Bull had previously only caught glimpses of. “I look forward to it.”


End file.
